


Denouement

by Empatheia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Immortality, M/M, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 10:46:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12057372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empatheia/pseuds/Empatheia
Summary: The spell failed, but Dean still swung high and slew Death himself instead of his brother. The Mark remained.





	Denouement

**Author's Note:**

> 750words entry from 2017/05/11. I'm a huge sucker for immortality angst.

In another world, another timeline, the spell didn't work. Rowena loved her sweet boy once, perhaps, but it had been so many years. Her heart was harder than it had been back then. She was no longer capable of even that small measure of human feeling.

So it failed, but Dean still swung high and slew Death himself instead of his brother.

They walked out together. 

Dean still had his Mark.

Things always change in the world of the Winchesters, so something else eventually would have moved. In the real timeline, there were so many things that could have moved, that would have eventually changed if the first or second or third batters up struck out.

In this timeline, nothing changed to save them. Sam died for good, eventually. Everyone else Dean knew followed suit, sooner or later.

Everyone except for Castiel.

Deathless, hollow with grief, Dean continued walking until there was no one left beside him but Castiel. He fought the Mark, worked with it as best he could to redirect its rage. He killed what needed killing. Mostly. Sometimes he killed things that just wanted killing a little, but he avoided innocents. By some miracle, he did. For decades.

He almost became used to it, in a strange way. The way a drunkard gets used to having bad balance. He was that, too, most of the time. He got better at recognizing what was him and what wasn't, and putting a few seconds' pause between impulse and action so he could head off the things that weren't him. He coped. Adjusted. Managed.

It wasn't really enough. Nothing had ever been enough since Charlie, and especially not since Sam. He missed them like a black hole in his soul, dragging in everything he tried to make things better for himself and crushing it to black, heavy dust.

All he really had left now was Castiel, and Cas was almost as fucked up as he was, a permanent exile who had to kill every angel he ran into before they killed him for Metatron and Hannah and everything else. He was shattered, fragile, and he was like that because he had chosen Dean. Every time, every time the path had diverged, he had chosen Dean. This was his reward.

Dean had apologized, of course. A thousand times. Every time he thought about it, pretty much. Cas was tired of hearing it, but he couldn't seem to stop. He had thanked Cas too, just as many times, and that was just as tired. There wasn't really anything else to say.

Well, there was one thing, but it was a thing he'd always had a lot of trouble with. Besides, Cas had to know. Dean had chosen Cas almost as many times as the reverse. The only person he would have chosen over Cas at need was decades dead now.

He had to know.

Even so.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said one day. There was blood on his hands. Blood on his everything, really. An uneven tumult of bodies surrounded him. Not monsters, these; just regular human baddies. Gangsters. Murderers, sure, but it wasn't his place to judge mortals. He knew that. He just had to kill something, and they were the least innocent he could find on short notice.

Castiel was there in a blink, looking around sorrowfully at the carnage around them. "Yes, Dean?" he responded quietly, without comment. He knew there was nothing he could say to mitigate this. Dean was unkillable, even for him, and despite everything he had seen Dean do over the last century, he still didn't have the heart to lock his only friend away somewhere he couldn't hurt anyone else. Not yet.

Dean thought he was just about ready to ask for it again. Last time, he'd chickened out because Death had demanded Sam's life in return. Castiel wouldn't set so steep a price.

He nearly chickened out of this, too, even though it should not cost him anything. All these years, all these horrors, yet these words scared him worse than the worst the universe had to offer.

"You know I love you, right?" he said. He couldn't make himself look at Cas. Just saying it had taken all the courage he had.

There was a painfully long pause. Dean closed his eyes, working hard to master the maelstrom of fear and pain inside him.

"Oh, Dean," said Cas, almost whispering. "Yes, I know. But it's so good to hear it."

That made Dean look up. Cas was right there, standing face to face with him. He wore a different trenchcoat now, a slightly different shade of ecru, and wore his hair a little longer, but otherwise he looked just like he had a hundred years ago. It was reassuring how he never changed. Beautiful, eternal Castiel.

There were tears in his eyes. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Cas cry.

Awkwardly, he clapped Cas on the shoulder. "Hey, come on," he said, too loudly. "Not something to cry about, is it?"

Cas took a shuddering breath and wiped at his eyes with the sleeves of his duster. "Yes, it is," he said. "The Mark should have devoured you long since, broken mortal man that you are, but here you stand, still able to love. Still able to express it without violence, even. I tore down the sky for you in the first year. I don't know what I would do now, Dean. I think I might let the whole universe die before I'd let it hurt you again, if I had the choice."

Dean laughed. "I guess that makes you an honorary Winchester," he said. "Ruining everything to save each other is kind of our hallmark."

"I'm honoured," Cas said gravely. "I truly am. And in case I'm not being clear enough here, this is a reminder that I love you, too. I always have. I've said it before, and I'll say it again whenever it needs saying. I love you dearly, Dean Winchester. More dearly than anything else in the whole of existence. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," said Dean thickly. He was suddenly sick of the stench of blood. Sick of all of this. Done. "I know, Cas. So can I ask you one more thing?"

The angel nodded, blue eyes serious. "Anything."

"Get me out of here," he said wearily. "Take me somewhere safe. Not for me, I mean; somewhere I can't hurt anyone else. Somewhere there's no one to hurt. Chain me down, lock me up, do whatever you have to, just make sure I can't leave."

"Dean--" Cas started, looking deeply pained.

"No, let me finish," Dean interrupted. "I know you'd say no if that was all of it, so it's not. This favour has two parts, okay? I want you to take me away and keep me away, and I want you to  _ stay with me _ . From the other side of the bars, if necessary, but stay with me. I don't want to be alone. I'm terrified of hurting you, when it gets bad, but I want you there anyway. And  _ now _ you can say no."

"All right," said Cas instead, giving him a lopsided, red-eyed grin. "If you'll let me stay with you, I'll take you anywhere you want to go. The universe is very large, you know, and mankind has seen almost none of it."

Dean couldn't help himself. He laughed. "Just like that? Me n' you, homesteading on the final frontier?"

"Yes," said Cas. "Yes, Dean."

Castiel held out his hand. It was as fine and unblemished as the day they'd met. Jimmy Novak's hand, preserved in time like amber.

Dean took a deep breath. Then he reached out and put his hand in Castiel's, and together they left the world behind. Immortal wanderers, adrift in space, willing exiles twice over.

It was closer to heaven for both of them than Heaven itself had ever been.

**X**

**Author's Note:**

> Good god, the sap, I'm gagging.


End file.
